In the Long Run

There is a children’s fable about a poor, starving mother and child who receive a magic porridge pot that continues to produce porridge on the command of “Cook little pot, cook!” until told to “Stop, little pot, stop!” This week I was living my own version of the fable, only with a “magic” soup pot.

My Key Limey has broadened his culinary talents beyond his famous expertise with key lime pies. He also has become quite adept at making savory soups. A week ago he made a creamy Ham-Potato-Broccoli-Cheese recipe that tantalized the taste buds and satiated the stomach. I was delighted to see that there was quite a lot of soup left over in the soup pot after our first meal of it. “There’s dinner for Monday and Tuesday nights…yes!” I reveled.

And so it was. I came home from work on Monday and Tuesday nights, chanted the magic words, “Cook, little pot, cook” as I filled two heaping bowls of soup and popped them into the microwave oven. We feasted sumptuously on soup, supplemented with bread and fruit.

On Wednesday night, I came home from work, and looked hopefully, but somewhat apologetically at my husband. “Is it all right if we have soup again? I know we’ve had it all week….” “Sure! I like that soup!” he responded congenially. Cook, little pot, cook!

Late that same evening, I discovered a message on my answering machine. I had missed a call from the missionaries confirming their dinner engagement with us the next night, which somehow I had failed to note in my calendar. What to do? I had to work until nearly six the next day, and they were due to arrive shortly thereafter. There was no time to make a nice dinner.

But of course! Cook, little pot, cook! On Thursday night I quickly added more broccoli to the magic pot, because by now, there was little broccoli, and fewer potato chunks left in the creamy gruel. Still, our guests seemed quite satisfied with the slightly plain Broccoli Cheese soup, and the Monster Sandwich that we served. And praise be—there was still soup in the pot!

By Friday afternoon, I was actually looking forward to soup for dinner. After an intense aerobics class, I thought that a warm shower and warm soup would definitely hit the spot. So I was quite disappointed when my Key Limey doubted that there would be enough soup for both of us. I ran to the refrigerator and opened the door. There sat the pot in its usual place of honor on the middle shelf. I pulled out the magic soup pot. It felt sort of…kind of…well, maybe…just a little heavy. I closed my eyes. Cook, little pot, cook!

I removed the lid, and triumphantly ladled out two generous servings of soup, which even overflowed the bowls as they simmered in the microwave oven! I sadly acknowledged, though, that the ladle was finally scraping the bottom of the pot. But wait! The dregs of the magic soup pot--a few broccoli florets, two potato chunks, one sliver of ham, all floating languidly in the savory sauce--were enough for one last delectable, though meager, serving!

I ate that last serving the next day, slowly, and almost reverently, after coming in from a cold run in the biting wind. Stop, little pot, stop, I thought, as I mused on the wholesome goodness of the Seven-Day Soup. It had nourished my body with comfort and calories for a whole week.

As sorry as I was to see the end to that soup, I noticed with eager anticipation just hours later, that my Key Limey was soaking a big pot of beans on the stove in the kitchen. The magic soup pot would yet live on…quite possibly, happily ever after!

Posted by Cyppy at 2:41 PM